


What Hurts The Most

by Hidanilein



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Broken Heart, Childhood Friends, Drifting Apart, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, One Shot, mentioning of suicide attempt, sudden reunion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-08
Updated: 2014-11-08
Packaged: 2018-02-24 15:14:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2586098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hidanilein/pseuds/Hidanilein
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I always had the tendencies to fuck up things which were more or less important to me. My blunt honesty together with a bad not really working brain to mouth filter was bad enough. But throw my lack of tact and my temper into the mix… I’m sure I also fucked up way more things but there are a few things I remember way better than others.<br/>But from these things I fucked up there is only one thing I was still regretting four years later. I thought I could never fuck up the friendship thing I had with him. But I snapped. I snapped bad and said something I shouldn’t had said. And the next day he was gone. Moved away. That had hurt. Maybe he finally got fed up with me… Apparently all our friends had known that he was about to move. Everyone beside me… I haven’t talked to him since that day. I was starting my senior year of high school only to realise I should have stayed in bed. Because suddenly after these painful and long four years he was back. Fucking great. Couldn’t he had waited one more year? Then the possibility of me meeting him would have been nearly zero. But of course not. And of course he had to walk into my first period on a fucking monday. Hurray… Marco fucking Bodt was back in town.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Hurts The Most

**Author's Note:**

> It's been quite a while since I wrote in general so it all might be a bit... strange.
> 
> The whole plot is based on a RP with my lovely [Marco](http://archiveofourown.org/users/LakhesisdiAngelo/pseuds/LakhesisdiAngelo) (apparently we love to rip each other's hearts out, don't ask. We're just doing it)
> 
> Also I have to thank my best friend for proofreading and encouraging in general. (I'm really insecure about many things, especially my writing style. But you probably can see this whole stuff [from writing in another language and posting it only] as a... way to push my low self-esteem... stuff like that)
> 
> Hm... I don't wanna talk that much, I just wanna say I also have a [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/hidanilein).
> 
> And I was listening to [this](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JZT1Oji2v2k) and [this](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1TuEUxuWR0I) while writing.
> 
> My love also said [this](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2X43XF8247E) reminded her about my Jean so...  
> Dunno oxo
> 
> And with that... have fun  
> *doesn't know what to write at the beginning of everything she ever wrote and it always ends up in brabbling*  
> *and probably likes her html codes too much...*
> 
> ~

I always had the tendencies to fuck up things which were more or less important to me. My blunt honesty together with a bad, not really working brain-to-mouth filter was bad enough. But throw my lack of tact and my temper into the mix… I’m sure I fucked up way more things but there are a few I remember way better than others.

But I didn't care for the most part when my dad piled on the pressure, forcing me to learn more in order to take after him. He wanted me to become some lawyer or successful businessman like he was. Anything I wanted to do was never enough for him, so even with trying not to, I fucked up. I always knew what my verbal response and actions didn't please him at all.

But again, I didn’t care about that. Especially when he tried to get me away from my best friend sweet, adorable Marco Bodt.

We had been best friends since my mother dragged me to the household of the Bodts after meeting mama Bodt – probably while going for some grocery shopping. (Maman always had preferred to cook by herself even when my father didn’t appreciate it at all…). At that time I had been six, he seven. I still didn’t know why he was even trying to befriend me. I had always been a rather grumpy, not really sociable person, but sweet Marco hadn’t cared.

And with him the growing pressure at home had become more bearable. I finally had a place where I could run to—where we both could run to; neither his nor my home was suitable.

There was a rather abounded playground in my area which we used as our personal hiding place, as the place where no one else besides us existed for at least a few hours. When we were just sitting on the swings talking about whatever came to our mind or climbing one of the trees and simply sitting on one of the thicker branches, leaning against each other and not talking at all. Enjoying to be able to breathe _freely_.

Even when I needed to sneak out of the house at the age of eleven because my dad didn’t want me to interact with someone of the lower middle class. But, again, I didn’t care. My best friend’s father had just died recently. How could I stay away from him when Marco needed me? When he had been there when my own father wanted to keep me inside so I would start to study more? When we needed each other? Marco’s dad hadn’t died due to some illness. There hadn't been any time to at least... prepare themselves for the inevitable. No, he died in an accident.  
Some asshole drove too fast, too reckless. Sweet, adorable Marco’s father died in a damn hit and run accident. No one was there to blame, leaving his wife and twelve year old son all alone…

I probably had always known that I was feeling way more for Marco than simple friendship. First it was more platonic, like the older brother I never had. But this slowly turned into admiration. When this precious freckled boy was always there for me, listening to my whining and trying to cheer me up. Even learning with me so that my father wouldn’t complain. Who tried his best to get me out of every possible fight. Who was doing all of this when all he wanted himself was to curl up and grieve over the loss of his father, cry over the fact that he was still too young to help his mother out. His mother who was now forced to somehow handle raising a twelve year old son and make enough money to get the two of them through.

I was fascinated by the fact that she managed that. That Marco managed to be so strong. Somehow we all managed it. Somehow Marco and I managed it. And my thirteen year old self thought he could never fuck this up. That he finally had found something that would last for a _long_ time.

~~~

There are exactly two things I regret doing in my life, two things I’d love to change. 

The first one happened on the day I eventually fucked up the one thing I never thought I‘d be able to fuck up. My little fourteen year old self had gotten into another fight with Jaeger. Eren Jaeger and I are apparently rather similar which lead us into probably way too many fights since we met on the first day of middle school.

On the said fatal day, Jaeger and I were still in the phase of mere arguing but if our clenched fists were any indicator, it would have come to a real fight in no time. I should mention that we were yelling at each other in German. Since both of us has a German side (for Eren his mother, for me my father) we rather often ended up yelling in this language. Maybe so others wouldn’t be able to understand if we’d insult each other once more.

And once again it had been a really stupid fight, about how both our fathers were putting pressure on us in some way and something around this topic. By the time Marco tried to jump in between us we were simply throwing insults back and forth. Being the good soul my freckled best friend was, he tried to get me away from Eren, separating us so that the stupid fighting would stop before someone got injured. Even when all he possibly could have understood was ‘Vater‘ and some minor words I taught him over the years.

And the moment Marco’s wrapped an arm around me and started to drag me away, Eren yelled another insult and something in me snapped. Growling, I pushed my friend away and glared at him. This alone wouldn’t have had any impact on our friendship which hadn’t formed the previous day. It formed years ago. And these years had been enough to make Marco more than capable of handle me in such a situation. Marco knew that I was acting like this because I was angry and driven by the urge to get into Jaeger’s face.

And I really should learn to keep my mouth shut. The shoving really didn’t affect Marco. But my words did. Words could hurt people so much more than any physical wound could ever manage to do.

“Out of the way, Marco. It’s not like you have a clue what we’re talkin‘ ‘bout!“

In my rage and temper flash I was so focused on Jaeger that I didn’t see the hurt expression on Marco’s face. I didn’t think about the fact that it was way better when your father at least had the ability to ignore you and put pressure on you. That I should have known better from all the time we fall asleep together, Marco curled up to my side after sobbing into my shoulder for ages when the pressure became too much.

I only realised how bad I had fucked up when I saw the tears in the well-known brown eyes. When I saw Marco turning around and stomping over to Armin and Eren, saying something quickly under his breath to the two of them and walking away without even looking back at me. And I didn’t run after him. I wanted to give him some time.

I thought I could simply apologise at school the next day, not knowing that there would be no ‘at school the next day‘. That this day had been his last one at Trost since they had to move away, somewhere where his mother got a better job and the place they stayed got paid by the employer.

It took me four days to learn that the Bodts had moved away. _Jaeger_ had to be the one to inform me. Well, it was more me asking more than once where Marco was and he snapped at me. “Oh? So you also already forgot that he moved away, huh?”

That hurt. Not only the way Eren had to remind me how I had fucked up, but that apparently everyone had known that my best friend was about to move away. Everyone beside me. Nothing to let me prepare myself for the impact. And it was only then I realised how Marco should have been feeling the day his father died.

No word. No text. No call. Nothing followed after. And I was too stubborn to do the first step. I’ve been too much of a coward. I knew that I was the one who fucked up first, that I owed him much more than a simply apology. But still I didn’t press the little ‘SEND‘ button on my phone, that little arrow which would let me contact Marco.

To be honest I thought that Marco didn’t want to be involved with me anymore. And I know I deserved nothing less. I overstepped a line I never should have. I know I fucked up. Really fucked up by saying what I said. But... I never thought I’d ever be able to chase Marco away…

I chased away the only thing, the only person, who could help me handle the situation at home, who could make the little voice in my head disappear just by being next to me and smiling at me. The voice of my dad telling me what a failure of a son, what a failure of a human being I was.

All I achieved was that now two voices in my head were telling me that… And the second one hurt so much more.

Which lead eventually to the second thing in my life I regret doing at all. I’m still wishing I wouldn’t have done it but I can’t change the past. I just can make sure that the past isn’t repeated in the future.

But I completely broke down five months, four days, seven hours and forty-seven minutes after I saw Marco the last time. It was the moment I realised how _much_ he meant to me, how un-platonic my feelings for him were.

Like I said, I regret what I did. I’m ashamed of it but I can’t change the fact that I tried. I never explained my actions, never going to try at least, all I knew was that I was broken, hurt, sad, tired, mad and madly _in love_. Madly in love with someone who I would probably never see again and who hated me.

I remember flinching at the burning pain, how I froze on the spot standing in the middle of our kitchen when I heard the front door, dirtying the white tile floor under my feet. For quite a while I hated myself for being such a coward that instead of turning to my left wrist I let my mother find me. I let her drag me to the hospital.

And then I started to hate myself for even trying it. My brain had to remind me that even if Marco didn’t want to know me anymore, never wanted to me ever again, that he still wouldn’t want me to throw away my life like this. I could nearly imagine him sitting at that damn hospital bed and telling me how much stronger I am, listing all the reasons why I shouldn’t try it again. Why I shouldn’t do it again.

So the person who got me into trying it, into giving up on everything, had also been the same person who managed to make me stop and never try it again.

~~~

After that I forced myself to stop caring. I stopped drawing since my brain seemed to be only capable of drawing one certain person. I was only getting a few strokes of my pencil on the paper and I already knew which person this would be in the end.  
I stopped kickboxing because it was not the same without him walking to training with me, watching me and grinning at me once I changed and took a quick shower. Nothing was the same without him but even my two hobbies – which had nothing to do with him directly - had lost their appeal to me. Walking around without him was more than just torture…

Well I still got my fighting. The moment I stopped caring I also stopped caring about what my father wanted for me. With my break down, everything had started to crumble. I realised that I never would be able to please him so why should I continue when I was such a failure? When I was such an asshole that I even managed to lose the one thing that meant the world to me?

When I changed my hair my father wasn’t really upset. He said the undercut looked military-like, disciplined. He thought his son was still on the way to become the boy he wanted as his son.

My father got upset when I arrived at home with my first fighting injuries. He was upset when my grades dropped noticeably. _I didn’t care._

Nearly the moment I turned 16 I even took it a step further to piss off my father. I got grounded for three weeks for the ring in my bottom lip, near the left corner of my mouth, and the other ring in my right eyebrow. The triple helix and the tragus left, the industrial one right and the 3 in every earlobe didn’t even receive a punishment. 

But guess what? Exactly. I didn’t care. Especially not when my father was giving me a punishment and then goes on a business trip for nearly the whole three weeks. So I didn’t at home most of the time. And even if he had stayed at home I wouldn’t have. From the time he had forbidden me to visit Marco I learned how to sneak out of our nearly ridiculous huge house. And due to the fact that his absence wasn’t a rare thing at home he also didn’t hear that nearly two months later I wasn’t able to talk without pain. I’m still wondering what would have happened if he had seen this one. Or the other three which followed nearly two years later…

Well. It wasn’t as if there had been any people who I was talking to in general. Seeing the old mutual friends hurt, making me play with the spikes-covered bracelet I was wearing around my right wrist to hide the ugly scar.

But I also couldn’t stay in my own room at home. Even when by that time two years had passed and I still hadn’t changed my room at all, there were still all the memories we had collected. All the photos and little things you collecting over the years of a close friendship.  
I knew I should simply get over it since there wasn’t any possibility that I would ever see him again…

~~~

Since that faithful day back in middle school, four years had passed by. I had gotten into more trouble with the head of the family since I had to up the ante with decorating my left lower arm with a German word and my right upper arm with a gryphon.

You could say that without Marco’s good influence I got out of control. How would you put it nicely? I strayed from the ‘straight and narrow’. But once again… Mmhmm.

The smoking definitely wasn’t any good for me either. Nevertheless it gave me something to focus my hands and mind on when I was leaning against some wall or tree, ditching the next class and simply being on my own. I never did prefer to be alone, but it was still less painful. I was never the type to socialise, either, and all my old friends were still mutual ones with Marco.

So my grades dropped even more.

And that was probably the reason why I even cared to stand up on the first day of the new school year. My senior year in high school. After that I could go somewhere else, leaving all of this completely behind me. Trying to get away from a certain freckled male. And it wasn’t as if anything was holding me back, making it impossible for me to move once I have finished high school.

  


* * *

  


Even after my alarm went off I spent nearly 30 minutes simply staring up at my ceiling. Why I was remembering all of this… I didn’t know. I planned on taking this last year a bit more serious, getting myself not that bad of a graduation diploma, but I couldn’t make myself feel like standing up at all. It was as if something was telling me that I would prefer to stay in bed, that something bad would happen once I left the security of my blankets.

Eventually I got tired of staring at the well-known ceiling and instead of listening to my feeling I rolled out of my bed, grabbed a fresh towel and walked through the door right next to my drawer. Perks of being a rich only child. Having a bathroom directly attached to your room. Why not.

Well, being a spoiled rich kid who was behaving like a complete jerk and ignoring everyone who wanted to socialise with him. That would be a better definition of me.

But apparently this behaviour together with my ‘bad boy’ appearance was something right out of some kind of wet dream, dark hidden desires or whatever if all the reactions and all the times I got hit on were any indicators. I couldn’t care less about that. Since I was a little kid there had always only been one person I wanted to kiss, that I wanted to let kiss me. But I missed my chance and fucked that up. I forced myself to believe that it didn’t matter. Nevertheless, I couldn’t get myself to kiss any of them. Neither chicks nor dudes.

Some people told stories about getting somewhere with me. I let them talk. They could gossip and talk as much as they wanted since I knew what had happened and what had not. That was enough for me.

A small, bitter laugh escaped my throat while I was rinsing the soap out of my hair. I was once again thinking about what my freckled… what Marco would think about these rumours. If he would believe me if I told him I haven’t even kissed anyone... Especially after all my talking about Mikasa during the first two years of middle school.

Quickly, I shook my head. He was often enough on my mind; could he please stay away from it once in a while instead of being one of the first things I’m thinking about after I’ve finally left my damn bed? But who was I kidding. He was always one of the first things on my mind…

For a moment I looked at the mirror, waiting for it to stop being steamed over, then eyeing myself on the reflective surface. Beside the things I did to change my appearance willingly, puberty also didn’t pass me unnoticed. I’d say that puberty did indeed a very good job. Forcing myself to stop thinking about the matter of what it changed – and not even let the possibility pop up to think about what it could have done for certain other people – I grabbed a towel, quickly drying my skin and ruffled through my hair a few times.

Getting dressed after that was more subconscious than anything else, taking some random pants and a shirt, throwing it over and letting myself fall on the edge of my bed. I was already late for school so why should I hurry up? Maybe I could pull on my socks a bit faster but well. Didn’t matter. Attaching my bracelet to my wrist was also done automatically; I’ve gotten used to wearing it over the years. No one needed to know what I’ve done. Running a hand through my already dried hair I stepped into my shoes and shoved my wallet and phone into my pockets, making sure that my keys were still in them as well.

I didn’t bother with calling out that I’m about to leave; my father was probably already gone or caught up in his study and my mother still asleep. A glance at the clock in the hallway confirmed my assumption about being more than late for school. Well who had guessed that after I wasted half an hour staring at the ceiling? Shrugging, I fished my cigarettes out of my backpack and closed the door behind me, heading towards my high school. I stuck a smoke in between my lips and lighted it.

“Ah, Kirschtein. Late again I see. And it’s only the first day of the new school year.” Without even looking at the teacher I walked to the back row. I was not only well-known by the student body. Let’s say the teacher probably was more surprised over the fact that I turned up at all. Letting my bag fall to the ground next to an empty seat I sat down and leaned back so that the chair was only balancing on two legs, my hands laced together behind my head. I was present and listening, more than I’d usually do.

When the door suddenly opened again, my eyes wandered to it rather curiously. I mean _I_ had already been late for school, arriving nearly 40 minutes after the first class had started, but there was someone stepping into the classroom that was even later than me. Some dark-haired dude. With a quick raising of my brows I turned away again, only looking up the next time when the teacher told that guy to sit down. New student in the last year of high school? Well why not? None of my business. At least I thought that till I locked eyes with this guy for a long moment.

And immediately I wished I'd have stayed in bed when I looked into way too familiar brown eyes. Sitting in a way too familiar freckled face for a moment I was wondering if he still had these four darker freckles in a parallelogram - like formation on each cheek. The next though that crossed my mind was... _Damn_! I thought puberty had done me a favour, but the cute, slightly chubby boy had turned into... I dunno. Some fucking hot _sexgod_.

That was not fair! That was _so_ fucking unfair! I already had problems letting go of the nice looking, cute, chubby boy from my memories. How was I supposed to move one from _that_?

I was wondering whether he had recognised me or not. And if he had… would he continue to ignore me? Would we both just continue like this? Would we just continue to have no contact at all? Once again, the guilt and bitter taste of betrayal rose up inside of me. Maybe it was better to continue like that. I stopped to explain my actions years ago, when I was lying in that damn hospital room…

So I won’t even try to explain why I decided to just stand up, not even flinching at the rather loud sound my chair made when it hit the floor. Not looking back I threw my bag over one shoulder and left the room, yearning for a cigarette again and giving in to the urge to run away.

Gulping down some lump in my throat I leaned my head against the wall behind me. I had to get out of that room, away from that freckled bastard. Ouch. Normally I was speaking way worse about people. But only meaning Marco, while _thinking_ this, hurt. I was at one of these spots you’re able to find if you needed to be alone and craving a cigarette. The being alone part was the important one…

For a second I had thought about hiding in the art room. Drawing had always been a good way to deal with my emotions. But since the return of Marco Bodt had been the reason I was so upset in that moment and Marco Bodt had also been the reason I stopped painting in the first place, it probably wouldn’t have been that good of an idea to pick that old hobby of mine up again now.  
Hiding in the music room would have been an option since I had recently started to learn how to play the guitar (I had ditched classes again and since my father had been at home I had hidden in said music room. And with nothing else to do …).

But instead I stayed where I was, glaring at nothing in particular, my usual frown on my face. “Why did you have to come back…?” I mouthed eventually around the cigarette, before I took the final drag, grinding it out with the heel of my foot and pushed myself away from the wall. I needed some distraction.

And I definitely didn’t get any when I continue to stare at my phone. Looking at the two boys grinning up at me in return, comparing them to the two teens we were now. Wondering if this situation could ever be fixed. I caught myself before I started speaking my thoughts out loud again; the thought about if he would continue to ignore me, couldn’t he had been stayed away? It’s easier to live with him ignoring me if I didn’t have to see him at school.

Slowly I pulled my headphones out of my jacket, frowning a bit deeper while I untangled the cords. I wasn’t feeling like staying at school for the rest of the day at all. Seeing him again without any preparations had been a shock. I needed to run away again...

_Still the same coward, Kirschtein?_

With a small huff I plugged my headphones in, shoving the buds into my ears and groaned at the first song which played. Apparently the world had decided to work against me. Or it wanted to show me that I need to change the music on my phone…

No. It definitely had decided to work against me. At least that was obvious when I passed Marco on my way out of the building. He seemed a bit lost in the new surrounding but I forced my eyes closed and clenched my fists, not wanting to give in the temptation to speak to the traitor.

I didn’t know where I was heading to till I got curious and looked up, making a face when I realised I was standing in front of my home. Great. Exactly where I wanted to be now. Not! Fuck. I didn’t want to go home, not during school time when my mother should also be at home.

Ignoring the bang in my chest I used one of the ways I learned so long ago. Originally I discovered them for sneaking out, for meeting up with Marco when my father was at home and the risk of him catching me had been too high. Without even wanting to my mind went back to warm eyes and joyful laughter while I was climbing through my window. Since the movement up the façade of the house – once again I was glad over the fact that my window wasn’t facing the street - was something my brain was able to do on autopilot it was simply running amok again. Thinking over stuff I didn’t need to remember at all.

Softly I set my bag on my desk and walked over to my door, locking it. I didn’t need anyone to come into my room when I was fighting these fucking tears. I thought I wasn’t able to cry anymore, that I shed them all the days after I discovered Marco moved away. Crying in the darkness of my room, hoping my father wouldn’t be able to hear me. That I had stopped crying after my visit in the hospital 3 ½ _years_ ago.

Kicking off my shoes I walked over to my bed, pulling of my shirt as well and swapped my pants with some loose sweatpants. I wasn’t planning on leaving the house today anymore since I still could feel this damn burning sensation. “Why are you back…” I whispered while I let myself fall on my mattress, face first into my pillows. Hoping that maybe… this was all some weird strange dream of mine…

 

Sleep didn’t come. Good two hours later I was still awake, staring at the ceiling, glancing around in my room, changing my position on the bed, lying still and holding my eyes closed… Nothing helped, nothing was working. And the fact that I was way too often staring at my phone on the bedside table, or the little white stone next to it wasn’t helping either. Not at all.

I was wondering if Marco still had his stone as well. When we were eight we had found them, little white similar stones with dark spots. I remembered laughing and saying they would look like his freckles. So we kept them, instead of friendship bracelets or something like that. Ironic how I never wanted to wear any bracelets…

So often I have wanted to throw away this stone, as far away as possible. But again I have been too weak. I couldn’t let go of Marco, of these memories, of what we had. I knew I couldn’t continue like this, that I couldn’t let him control me like this even when he wasn’t around anymore, when he didn’t even know that he was still controlling me like this. Unwillingly. 

Ignoring him would be the best but alone the planning on doing so hurt. But I couldn’t let him in again. Couldn’t...

The sudden sound of music startled me. Cussing I rolled back onto my side, reaching out for my phone – my brain still dizzy from me being half asleep so I didn’t recognise the song. And damn. I should have so I would have ignored the device.

**Missed Calls (1):** _Imbécile_

“Fuck.” I couldn’t suppress the small whine leaving my throat, revealing my broken heart. I haven’t even been able to delete his number. Or change at least the fucking contact name. It was still the same, the same stupid nickname I gave him back when we were younger. 

Quickly tossing my phone back on the table I pulled my blankets over my head, curling up and squeezing my eyes shut. Why did he have to call _now_? After all these years? Without giving me a chance to react at all? I didn’t know what I would have done if he’d have given me the chance... Again I felt the hatred burning sensation of tears in my eyes. Nearly 3 ½ years without and suddenly I’m back to bawling my eyes out every second?!

But I couldn’t start to cry, I need to bottle my emotions up again. Because every time I did cry I felt the need for Marco being by my side, to let me press my face in his shoulder, neck, chest. Being my anchor to calm myself down and falling asleep nearly on top of him. But since that day Marco hadn’t been there.

Like in this moment when I was pressing my face in one of my pillows, my whole body shaking from badly suppressed sobs and whimpers, trying so hard to stay quiet in case my father was at home. This probably seemed ridiculous given the fact that I stopped caring about him. Maybe it was more that I didn’t want anyone to notice how pathetic I was again. Breaking down like this over a fucking phone call...

Eventually my sobbing ebbed down, the tears stopped but I refused to lift my head, feeling too weak to move. Even when my pillow was nearly soaked under my face. Was that the whole reason Marco was back? To first ignore me in class and then some fucking prank call? 

I’m pretty sure I let out a snort. That definitely didn’t sound like Marco Bodt, not like the freckled boy I nearly grow up with. But a lot can happen in four years... and if he really started to hate me...

Trying to be angry didn’t work. All I could feel was my broken heart and the feeling of being so damn pathetic. And then I was mad at myself for even feeling like this. Where did the guy I became over the years go?! Taking a deep breath I calmed down slowly. Thinking like this wouldn’t help me at all. Bathing in my own misery was nowhere near healthy. It made it difficult to get away from all of this. Because you could get used to your own misery, enjoying your own miser--

“Verdammt noch mal! Lass mich in Ruhe!” Growling I turned on my back, rubbing my face when I heard the buzzing on my table again. God, I hated the feeling of dried tears on my skin... 

Frowning, I glared at my phone. What if Marco was pulling some prank call again? Or maybe earlier he hadn’t noticed he had called me? And was now again trying to reach me? Nevertheless, it still hadn’t stopped, the lit screen was still glaring at me together with the seemingly angry buzzing.

Groaning, I reached out, narrowing my eyes for a moment at the brightness of the screen and raised my pierced brow. “Oui, maman?” Oh fuck. I hoped my mother would confuse my teary voice with a sleepy one...

But the next moment I knew she probably hadn’t even heard me talking at all since she already had started to speak in rather rapidly French. Double fuck. I knew what had happened before she even told me. No need for that. Should have seen it coming the moment Marco stepped into the classroom. Of course our mothers would meet up sooner than later.

I tried to tell her that I was tired, that I would meet _him_ at school tomorrow. Well Fuck! Thank you brain. Now she knew that something was up. I never had a problem with saying Marco. _Never_. Of course sometimes it also had been ‘him’ but never with such a voice... This had been the first time; maybe caused by that strange call, be it a prank call or not. 

Well it didn’t matter if it was one or not, I wouldn’t come over to their new house. Sorry maman, you know I love you, but _no_. Marco hated me for sure. Why should I want to see him? And even when it got added to the guilt, already clawing at my chest, I simply hung up on my mom.

That hurt equally like ignoring Marco, by the way. I should have known. Again suppressing a sob I turned my damn phone off. Not wanting any more calls. Simply wanting to sleep...

And apparently sleep had finally come if the numb feeling in my mouth and throat was any indicator – well it was, given to the fact that I only had this feeling when I slept for around half an hour to two hours. But why was I awake again after such a short time? Considering how exhausted I was, how desperately I wanted to sleep. 

Suddenly I heard our door bell. What the fuck was wrong today? Wasn’t I allowed to cry myself to sleep anymore, huh? Clearly pissed off I rolled out of my bed, my hair messed up, still only dressed in rather loose grey sweatpants and probably it was written all over my face that I had been crying.

Scowling I unlocked my door and stomped out of my room, down the stairs. “Ouais, ouais...” Of course the fucking bell had to shrill again when my hand was already resting on the fucking handle. I was already pissed off – crying exhausted me most likely way too much since I normally swallowed all my emotions.

“What?!” Snarling this world I tore the door open, wearing one of my best death glares. Only to freeze on the spot with wide, probably still rather bloodshot, eyes when I realised who the fuck was standing in front of me.

First some strange maybe-prank call, then my mother trying to get me to the Bodts’ household and now Marco standing in front of the door. Nope. Never. Nein. Niemals. I probably passed out after all my crying. Damn, it was nice to see him, but it hurt like hell!

Quickly I took a deep breath, crossing my arms over my bare chest, nearly jumping at the feeling of metal brushing my arm. Fuck was I tense... and I was staring. 

“I... your mom’s at my house... upset. So I came to get you..?” It was nice to hear his voice, it had gotten a bit deeper and richer. I liked the sound of it. It was also nice seeing him hide his face behind some can he had brought with him, taking a sip. Well it would have been nice if it wouldn’t be so damn awkward.

“Tch. I already told her that I’m tired. So fuck off.” Needless to say - I snapped... I was fucking nervous, okay? Cut me some slack. I was so stressed out that even my mind thought that Marco had sized me up. And that was completely ridiculous. Why would he do something like checking me out? But it was easier to concentrate on that than on the way he had cringed at the ‘fuck off’.

My tongue and teeth were playing with my lip ring to distract myself while I was turning my head away. Hell no. I haven’t been looking him over myself. Nope. Instead I concentrated on the feeling of the little silver ball in my tongue clacking against my teeth.

“Will you just... please. They will be disappointed if I don’t come back with you...” God. I wanted to pull him in my arms and never let go of him ever again. 

But I couldn’t. I shouldn’t. I wasn’t allowed to let him back in. Avoiding to look at him I glanced at the ground between our feet – nevertheless I noticed how he was pressing his hand on his right eye. That seemed strange, maybe he developed a new nervous habit?

“And… maybe we... we could—Well y’know…? Talk?” I really had missed his voice.

I have wanted to talk over the whole matter since the moment these awful words had left my mouth. But I couldn’t continue standing there like this, again my eyes were burning, again I was on the edge of crying, hating myself to let him tear down my walls without even trying at all. Once more I snapped.

“But I don’t wanna talk with you. I wanna sleep. Bye.” And with that I took a step back, slamming the door right in his face. My breathing was suddenly growing heavier while I turned around and leaned against the door, sliding down slowly and pulling my legs up once my butt hit the ground. Suppressing any noises I buried my face in my knees.

I couldn’t allow him back in... I couldn’t allow him back in. _I couldn’t allow him back in!_ “Please… just disappear again…”

Marco hadn’t even come to the house on his behalf. He never had been able to see his or my mother sad, disappointed or upset. So he had come here, because I had hung up on my mother, because our mothers wanted us to make up. He hadn’t been here because of me... It was more than obvious how uncomfortable Marco had been standing in front of me, hiding behind that stupid coke can…

God. I wished I could hate him…

~~~

Since this encounter nearly a month had passed. A painful month in which I avoided Marco as much as possible, ditching the one class we had together most of the time.  
Apparently he had started to do four or five sports at his previous school and even here most of his classes were AP classes.

Well that worked for me since I had planned on doing more for the last year. Meaning I didn’t need to ditch many classes to avoid him. And even when I hated to admit it… Something about Marco being back made me pick up my old hobbies.

I still could only draw him, it was a bit weird and painful at first to be back to kick boxing but I also taught myself more to play on the guitar. For learning it on my own I wasn’t that bad. And unfortunately it felt _good_. Even when all songs I played where not really happy ones, songs about bad break ups and broken hearts. I even managed to shred my heart to pieces with my own drawings.

I haven’t seen much of him after his return and that semi- conversation we had in the evening then. But apparently my brain was able to put his new appearance on paper so damn accurately it was nearly ridiculous, maybe even pathetic. How I wanted to be in some weird top from. For him. Because of him.

I didn’t know what exactly let me sit in these two hours on the next Monday, knowing it was the only class I was sharing with him. But there I was, sitting in the back of the room, ignoring most of what my teacher was saying and looked out of the window. If I would have been listening I would have known why Mrs Ral was suddenly nearly yelling my full name. I would have known that she was wanting to do some kind of partner project – don’t ask me about what she wanted to do a partner project in English, maybe about some authors or whatever. What had been more important was the fact that Mrs Ral wanted to do this ‘weak student – strong student’ combination. Which meant…

“Hell no!” I bet my eyes widened a bit when the realisation hit me – contrary to the fact that I didn’t realised the words that left me – that she was forcing me to do something with _Marco_. It was already killing me to be in the same room as he, she couldn’t do that to me! It wasn’t as if I haven’t spent the most of the last month avoiding said male!

“Mrs Ral. It’s fine. I’m used to working with him. So don’t worry, I’m capable of handle this.” I flinched at these words. His fucking ‘ _I’m used to it_ ’ and ‘ _I’m capable of handle this_ ’ may have been right years ago. Before I became this two-toned haired, pierced and tattooed, broken asshole I was now.

I didn’t care about this project. I didn’t care about the grade we’d receive for it. _I didn’t care._

Not realising the curse words leaving me under my breath in various languages I shook my head. “Vergiss es…” I growled and returned to glare out of the window, fixing my eyes on nothing in particular on the other side of the glass. I didn’t want to do this fucking project, I couldn’t be near the freckled male. I couldn’t!

I cringed physically when I heard a chair getting dragged to my table, forcing my eyes to remain where they were, glaring as if the air itself had caused me harm. I wanted to run away, running away from this room, this situation, from this guy I used to call my best friend.

“You can’t ignore me forever.” Watch me trying to do exactly that, Marco. It was less painful than risking to go through the next betrayal of yours.

Suddenly he let an annoyed breath out through his nose, my old habits kicking in when I looked up. That sound normally had been the signal for me that he was utterly done with my shit, that I had to prepare for a scolding. And you’re definitely screwed when you realising you have been missing such a noise as well…

But once more he was pressing his left hand to the right side of his face like in that conversation we had at our front door. Although Marco’s right arm was trembling slightly. Nearly immediately my eyebrows shoot up in confusion and curiosity even when he had already turned around and was halfway out of the room.

The usual frown on my face got deeper at that. Marco Bodt, honour student, walking out of the classroom just like that. That was new. That was wrong. So _wrong_. Everything in me screamed at me to jump up and run after him, to make sure he was alright or if not to make sure he’d be alright.

But _I couldn’t_. Most likely because he probably didn’t even want me to go after him. Whatever was wrong… it didn’t change anything. Neither his betrayal, nor my attitude towards, nor the fact that he was most likely despising me. That he didn’t need me.

So I stayed in my seat, glaring at the papers on my desk, debating whether I wanted to start doing some of the work. Ah fuck it. I was sure I couldn’t ignore or forget Marcos strange behaviour so I simply grabbed my stuff and left the room as well. Mrs Ral didn’t say anything, maybe she thought I was about to look after my project partner.

Uh-huh. Right. Whatever.

Before I knew it I was in my favourite hiding spot. You could reach it by using one of the back doors and walking around a corner right in front of the fence which was separating the school ground from the backyard of the building next to it. You couldn’t really see anyone standing in that spot but lucky for me no one else ever found this spot.

Sighing i leaned my head back, closing my eyes and shoved my hands into my pockets. Somehow Marco’s behaviour had reminded me that nearly three years ago my mother had been acting strange as well.

Since the contact to Marco had come to an abrupt stop I had been wondering once in a while if my freckled friend was alright. If he already had made new friends – he would though, Marco had always been the paragon of a social butterfly – if he was doing well at school, if the chubby nerd got bullied, if he had already forgotten about me…  
My mother had also asked me - nearly as often as I was thinking these things – how Marco was doing. As if I would be able to give her an answer to that…

But around the time I remembered she had asked me on a daily base, even twice or thrice a day. If I had heard anything new about Marco, if my friend was alright and so on. Yes, more than obvious exactly. And quickly I had been thinking about what _had_ happened to him.  
Being hurt and too much of a coward I neither called nor texted him. I was staring at my phone a few times, making myself then busy to not give in… Speaking of which. Quickly I fished my smokes out of my pockets, concentrating on lightening one of them and taking the first drag. I had stopped caring. That’s the reason why I didn’t call. Why I didn’t asked if there was something going on. And… if something would have had happened to Marco someone would had told me.

Right?

Frowning I let the smoke escape my mouth, watching it fading into nothing while I thought about the possibility of Marco having an accident and no one thinking about telling me. Luckily my phone going off interrupted my thoughts.

Confused I took my cigarette between my fingers, getting even more confused when I saw that my mother was calling me. She was never calling me during school time. Okay, I realised the school day was almost over when my gaze felt on the time in the corner of my screen. How long I have been simply standing here and thinking? Nevertheless it was still during school so it had to be something important.

Taking another puff I accepted the call, trying to make some figures with the smoke while I hold the device to my ear, listening to what my mother wanted after I had made a small humming noise to show her I was listening at all.

Probably it should have made me suspicious, her only telling me to come home immediately. Cussing mentally I stubbed out the smoke with my foot and pushed me away from the wall.

‘Marco’s in the hospital.’

Yep. Exactly. That was what I always wanted to hear the moment I stepped through our front door. Like a fucking dream coming true. Not. Fuck. Well that explained why maman hadn’t told me what had forced her to call me at school. Answer back, declining on the phone, simply hanging up and such was one thing, doing that while she was standing like this in front of me was a completely other one.

And shit. _Marco was in a fucking hospital_. Pretty sure that had something to do with both – Marco’s strange behaviour earlier in class and the weird one my mother had have years ago. And it left a bitter taste in my mouth…

But I wasn’t quick enough, mom didn’t buy my ‘why should I care?’ and before I could comprehend what had happened I was already sitting in her car. “Maman!” I didn’t want to go to that damn hospital.

“Non, Jean! I can _see_ how concerned you are.”

And with that, the conversation was over. I had lost this fight and all my sulking or struggling didn’t work either. Simply because I couldn’t say no to her. Not when she could look at me like this, like she was seeing through all my layers, my façade. Needless to say that I was worried, right? Even if the possibility was high that Marco didn’t want me near his hospital room either. Maybe I could just disappear once we reached said room…

While I let my mother drag me into the hospital and through it as well, I was wondering if my new attitude towards Marco was even bothering him at all. Or didn’t he care about it? And what had happened three years ago? Was it that bad that it could still hurt? The main reason I could carry on more or less without Marco was because I always had thought that he was alright. That he was living his life without me and was happy, content. Safe. I knew I was overreacting again – I always had the tendencies to do that with things that concerned Marco’s health and/ or safety.

“Maman!” I tried again to protest. “I already lost him… now you want me to fucking face… the fact that… maybe I’ll even loose… that it’s bad and…” I had to stop myself and glared out of the window. Calm down, Jean. Stop overreacting. You don’t care, remember?

By now we were standing in front of the room he was apparently lying in and my mother tried to convince me to walk into said room. Maybe even to make up with him.

“It’s not that bad, sweetie. The pain from the accident three years back surged through him.” I was so focused on my own panicked state that I jumped at these words, making mentally a face at the ugly sound my neck gave away when I turned my head quickly. Locking into his mother’s similar freckled face, leaning against the door frame and smiling sweetly at me as if I wasn’t the asshole I was.

“You know…” For a moment she glanced back into the room behind her before her brown eyes returned to lock into mine. Marco had inherited her eyes. “When we got here he wanted to text you. But had a feeling you wouldn’t answer him.”

I had to turn my head away, once more glancing out of the window. “What did he do that was so bad you can’t talk to him?” Oh, I dunno. Maybe shredding my heart to pieces as if I meant nothing? Also he started this first! The whole ‘not talking to him’ thing. I didn’t know that he was about to move away! And apparently I really didn’t meant that much to him. Again seemingly everyone had known something about him and only I had been left in the dark about it.

Once more I retreated in my shell, hiding my broken heart and destroyed trust behind my actions. “Why should I answer him in the first place? I wasn’t informed three years ago. Why should I care now?” Growling I forced myself to turn around, only raising a hand to say bye.

“I won’t be back home till later, maman.” And with that I left, not wanting to know if Marco had heard the conversation in front of his room or not. Again I gave in to the urge to away; running away had apparently became my new suit. It was easier. What could I possibly have done otherwise though? Bursting into that hospital room, pretending nothing had happened? Pretending it hadn’t hurt like this when he moved away without telling me? Pretending that I wasn’t feeling so guilty anymore for snapping this long four years ago? 

But fuck. I wished I could simply do that. Sitting beside that damn hospital bed, maybe even sitting on the bed, hugging him, entertaining him. Maybe even brushing a few strands of soft black hair out of the lovely freckled face, out of his shining eyes, getting lost in the warm brown. Searching the flecks of hazel in them. Damn. I was still so deep...

The last time I had been in a hospital... nearly automatically my fingers started to fiddle with one of the spikes attached to my bracelet. It was like a habit, reminding myself of what I’ve done – nevertheless this habit was a bit healthier than grabbing my cigarettes. I couldn’t help the small smile which was creeping on my face when I thought about how upset Marco probably would be if he ever discovered that I started smoking. Well the old Marco... the Marco before everything went downhill, he would definitely be not pleased at all...

I would be lying if I would tell myself I was surprised when I saw a way too familiar area the moment I looked up again. Needless to say that my feet and subconsciousness had leaded me to _our_ place. What else? Sighing I gave in to my faith and sat down on one of the swings, leaning my head against the cold chain. 

I shouldn’t be here. I should be still at the hospital...

~~~

Already one and a half week had passed. The doctors still wanted to keep Marco in the hospital, wondering why these old scars and injuries had started to hurt like this again. Due to him being still chained to the bed and my mother telling me he’s alright, I was back to avoiding him. 

Yes. Excuses. Only excuses. The guy who was still meaning so much to me, who I used to call my best friend, was lying in the hospital and I should be there. But I was too much of a coward to visit him. Too stubborn. Too hurt. Too scared. Couldn’t allow him back in, giving Marco the next opportunity to hurt me, destroying me completely this time.

I know, I know. People are saying stuff like ‘If you do not want to get hurt and stay only for yourself nothing good can happen to you.’ Do they even say it like that? I dunno. Also something about taking risks and such. Or whatever.

Fact was I stayed away from the whole building even if it was killing me even more. Marco had always told me I had the ability to do the right choices and I knew that staying away was definitely _not_ the right choice.

The sudden sound of an incoming message interrupted my thoughts, letting myself fall back on my bed I grabbed my phone, stopping midway when I finally recognised the tune. Marco himself had set it as the music for his contact in my phone. Another thing I had been unable to change.

But why would he text me _now_? I’d love to be able to say I hesitated before I read the text, but I didn’t.

**From :** _Imbécile_ (5:11 PM)  
“Ah, hey, Jean. I know you really, really hate me and such but I need your help. Please?”

Confused I furrowed my brows and started to chew on my left thumbnail, staring at my phone lying in my right hand. Probably it was better if Marco thought I hated him, right? Even when quite the contrary would be the truth...

**To :** _Imbécile_ (5:20 PM)  
“What do you want, Bodt?”

Fuck. Just sending such a fucking message _hurt_. The only person I ever called by their last name – without using Mr or Mrs – had been Eren. Okay, sometimes I had called Marco ‘Bodt’ but always in a playful maybe mocking manner, never like this, out of nowhere and with obvious venom.

Realising that this had also been the first text I sent Marco in forever I let my phone drop on my mattress. Jumping up from my seat I decided to take a shower so I wouldn’t be around if I receive the next text from him. Marco shouldn’t think I have been only staring at the screen, waiting for him to text again.

“Hmpf, Kirschtein. I thought you had stopped waiting for that years ago...” Great. I was talking to myself again. Frowning I pulled my shirt over my head, tossing it into my hamper on my way into my bathroom.

**From :** _Imbécile_ (5:24 PM)  
“I need you. Ah, I just need you to come visit me, yes?”

_I need you._

Fucking heart! Why did you made a damn jump? Missing a beat only to pound faster? This meant _nothing_. He was hating me, he thought I was hating him. But damn. I wanted to be needed by him. I needed to be wanted by this precious freckled boy. 

Groaning I ran a hand through my still wet hair before I was stepping in a fresh pair of underwear, followed by the first pants I had pulled out of my dresser. I didn’t need to reply to Marco, instead I concentrated on getting dressed as fast as possible. The moment I slide my phone into my pocket and stepped into my shoes, my hair was in the state between wet and damp.

Absent minded, I played with the bracelet while attaching it to my wrist before I grabbed my keys. I was still running on autopilot, being so deep in my thoughts that I didn’t notice that I was already on my way to the hospital until I was standing in the hallway where Marco’s room was.

Once more I ran a hand through my hair and flinched. It was still damp... And there I was, not wanting to let him see how eager I was. Way to go, Kirschtein...

There was still a way out, there was still the possibility for me to turn around and walk home again. To be honest... No. There was not such a possibility at all. Since _he_ had wanted me to come visit him... speaking of old habits kicking in.

Taking a deep breath I continue my way towards his room, needing to check on the numbers and names next to the rooms to make sure I got the right one. Once I found the right door I needed a moment to close my eyes, bracing myself before I slowly opened the door. Feeling as if I was about to attend my own execution.

My emotions, my insecurities, eagerness and nervousness were hiding themselves behind a mask of annoyance and anger. I felt pathetic enough over the fact how much I needed him in my life...

A nearly relieved sigh left my throat once I had closed the door behind me and turned my attention to the single bed in the room. Marco seemed to be asleep, one of the headphones had fallen from his ear and soft cords of music were audible due to that. 

And I caught myself wishing that he was really asleep, maybe then I’d be able to gather enough courage to tell him what had happened. What would be completely pointless... telling him what I owe him to know when he was asleep.

“What did you want?” My tone was harsh, way too harsh since I was still hiding behind my mask of fake annoyance. I cursed mentally when he was quickly sitting up, staring at me as If he couldn’t believe I was really there. Trust me, old friend. I couldn’t believe it either. Slowly he rubbed his face and tugged at the cord of his ear buds. I tried to focus on the second one falling in his lap.

“You actually came...” At that I could only shrug and moved to lean against the wall next to the door, turning my head to look out of the window. We both knew that I had always been there if he called out for me. A text in the middle of the night? No problem I knew how to sneak out of the damn house. No need for him to state a well-known fact. I never had been able to say ‘no’ to him. And apparently it was still like this.

“A... Ah... How... uhm... how are you? And like... class...? And yeah?” Slowly I peered at Marco through the corner of my eyes, raising one of my brows at these words. We had _never_ been this awkward around each other. Not when we had met for the first time, talking about sudden erections, first wet dreams, homework, first crushes, our parents ... Always, we had talked about everything. That there was so much tension now between us, that this was so awkward was proof enough over how fucked up the whole situation was.

And the look on his face told me he noticed it as well. Did he also still need me as badly as I needed him? Did we still need each other so desperately, Marco getting protected from his fears by me, me needing his assistance with all my sorrows?

“I'm fine. Started to paint and kick box again.” I could hear myself saying this but I didn’t know why I said it in the first place. With that I had given away two things: That I stopped and that I started again... And before I fixed my eyes on the window and buried my hands in my pockets I saw exactly that on the freckled face. I saw that he couldn’t believe I stopped with my favourite things beside hi--

I jumped when Marco was letting out a squeak- like noise and adjusted the ear bud in his left ear. This made me wonder if he still had that playlist I made for him so long ago. When I knew that I loved him in a platonically way but had slowly gotten the feeling that it was more than that.

Again I got reminded that I never confessed. And that he wasn’t only hot as fuck but also a fucking adorable piece of cuteness. Exactly the reminder I needed. Thanks Marco...

“Sorry, but... uhm. Oh. You quit painting and boxing?” Of course he wouldn’t drop this topic. Of course he had to remember how I was always doing one of them when we were younger. I recall lying on our stomach in his room, me doodling while he was either telling me something or just watching me quietly. Was he now wondering if I had quit because of him?

“Things are changing.” My own cold, distant voice made me close my eyes for a moment before I continue to look out of the window. I wished I could just move away from this damn wall, walk over to him and simply fall into his arms. Because there was where I belonged. Were I always have belonged. Where I always will belong. 

But I couldn’t. I couldn’t let him back in. Maybe it was becoming easier if I tell myself this more often. Maybe I should also take this opportunity to tell him how broken I am...

At a sudden sound my tense body flinched, once more my eyes moved so I could look at the bed without changing my position. Marco had moved his electronics from his lap to the small table beside his bed and was pressing his hands flat on the spot between his crossed legs, glancing at a nearby chair.

“You know you can sit down. I won’t bite...” ‘ _Unless you want me to_.’ I know we both waited for him to add these words. Four years previous one of us would have made a joke like this for sure. And I bet I was about to blush at these thoughts, right? I didn’t know if I would want Marco to bite me...

Who am I kidding? I may still be a bloody virgin but I'm not that innocent. I had a few things in mind I would love to try with Marco, I’d love Marco to do with me. Not that there was any possibility for it to happen. And that’s not because I definitely would be a nervous blushing mess. It was due to this fucked up situation. Also, I probably should stop thinking such stuff while standing in his hospital room...

“I'm fine here.” I mumbled eventually, my eyes staying on the glass of the window. I was _not_ fine standing there, leaning against the wall. So close but yet so far away from him. I wanted to walk over to him, pulling him into a deep, long needed hug and bury my face in the crook of his neck. Like I have done so often when we were younger; when I wanted to hide from everything. In Marco's arms I felt safe, I’ve been able to block out everything that wasn’t the soothing voice in my ear, the hand rubbing over my back, the strong arms around me. With much willpower I stopped myself from thinking over the fact that his arms were now even more muscular, even stronger...

“Jean.” I could feel my whole body freezing and straightening up again at the sound of him saying my name. I still forced my eyes to stay on the window. 

“Jean, I know...” I could hear him letting out a small breath, his voice shaking while it seemed as if he had to force himself to speak further. “I know I left unannounced... but I couldn’t tell you. I didn’t want to... I didn’t want to accept the fact that my mom was really making us move...” Ruffling was the next sound that lingered in the room and I could imagine him gripping the blankets, calming himself down so his voice wouldn’t continue to break like this.

“I didn’t want anyone to tell you about my accident either... I know you...” The next pause in his speech and I allowed myself to glance at him. By now he had pulled his legs up to his chest, his arms wrapped around them and his head leaned down, his cheek resting on his knees. He looked so small and vulnerable. I quickly tried to look away again.

“You would have become paranoid, lost sleep. Wondering if I was dead, alive, incarcerated or whatever else had come to your mind. Don’t even try to say you wouldn’t have acted like that. I know you, Jean Kirschtein. At least I did back then...” While he was covering his face, gripping his hair angrily and helpless I was unable to say anything. 

He didn’t let me know because he was worried about my reaction? He was the one badly wounded and he cared about me?!

“I didn’t know what to do, I was scared without you... I needed you by my bedside. But I didn’t know how to text you... or anything.” He sighed and moved to lie back on his bed. Did I hear right? Did that mean there was still a possibility to fix this situation? That maybe he still needed m--

“But who cares anymore, you can leave. You can go back to ignoring me. I don’t care.”

I had fucked up. Again. I destroyed the little chance I had to fix this situation. I don't care. I don't care. You can leave, _I don't care_. It was only in this very moment, when I heard Marco say these words, that I realised I never have stopped caring at all. But that didn't make it hurt less. I was wondering whether I wanted to laugh or cry.

"You know..." I started eventually while leaning my head back. Listening to the small 'thump' noise which could be heard when the back of my head made contact with the wall behind me. Gathering the little courage I had inside me to tell Marco what had happened after he left. Using my last opportunity and hopefully being able to let go after it.

_I don't care._

“I was planning to apologise the next day. Simply... jumping over my own shadow. Straight away apologising for snapping like that. But you weren’t there. I thought... maybe you were sick or that mad at me. so I shrugged it off, not going by at your house. Because I wanted to give you time. When you weren’t there the following two days as well I got... nervous...” My eyes were never leaving the tree I was focusing them on by now. I knew I wouldn’t be able to tell these things when I was looking at him. 

“At the fourth day after you moved away _Jaeger_ told me. That you moved away. Without telling me. That hurt. Apparently everyone had known it beside me.” I needed all my courage to speak so I was still not looking at him, but I could feel that it was becoming slowly easier for me, that I got into the flow of simply telling it. As if it wasn’t my own story I was telling him. For a moment my tongue was playing with my lip ring, trying to relax more. Needless to say it didn’t work.

“I don’t break down that instead, I broke down when I was at home, alone in my room, crying as quietly as possible into my pillow. Was my snapping so bad that you wouldn’t even want to talk to me anymore? Of course. I knew I fucked up big time when I snapped, when I saw you stomping away. I just haven’t thought I never would be able to apologise. Directly. Day after day I got quieter. Now not only my father’s voice was telling me what a failure I was.

“I had always thought that if someone could handle me then it would be Marco. But me snapping at him was apparently enough. Couldn’t blame him for finally being fed up with my bullshit for real.” I had to take a deep breath, forcing my voice to stay steady. Didn’t work as well as I wanted it to work to be honest.

“I ... I stopped painting simply because my mind was only able to draw one person. I stopped kick boxing since it wasn’t the same without yo—without Marco standing at the side, cheering for me...” Needing to also speak as if I wasn’t talking to the person of matter since I could already feel these traitorous tears stinging in my eyes.

“And... around 5 months after he moved away I... I’m not proud of it but this time I broke down for real. I didn’t want to carry on like this, I thought I couldn’t carry on like this. Not when the person who was so dear to me, who meant the world to me had turned away from me. When I managed to fuck up the only thing that meant everything to me. I always had been more of a coward so I wanted to keep running away. So far away, with no possibility to even be able to look back.”

“But after I was laying in a room in this hospital... the same person who had gotten me to... kinda... try it, stopped me from ever trying again. ‘Marco wouldn’t like it if I would give up this easily. Not when he had always told me how I'm able to do the _right_ thing.’ At least, that was what I told myself...” I could feel my hands shaking, again I was playing with the bracelet around my wrist like always when I was talking or thinking about the scar.

I hoped Marco would understand without words that I didn’t want to talk about that. Not in this situation though, maybe sometime else. If there ever would be another conversation after this.

_I don’t care_. I needed to finish. This story and all of it.

“After that... I think maybe a month? I had convinced my mother that I didn’t need to go to see some therapist. Was a shitload of work by the way... Anyway. Armin asked me eventually ‘Hey how’s Marco?’ And I said ‘I don’t know? I doubt he wants me to know, I don’t even know where he’s living right now.’ And then Armin looked confused, telling me Eren and he had the contact details for me... Half a year since Marco had moved away and the bitter taste of betrayal was back. So our friends... they even had his new contact details. And I was left alone, unknowing... and I... stopped caring. I forced myself to believe that I stopped...”

My voice was breaking, which made it impossible for me to continue my rambling. Which was why I didn’t finished the sentence.

_I don’t care_. The fight against the tears got even harder. I didn’t want to break down. I didn’t want to break down in front of him.  
 _I don’t care_.

_You can leave_.

Ah fuck it!

“Hm...” I snorted after a few moments of complete silence between us. “You're probably tired of me whining around like a little bitch, hm? So... I will take my leave. But... I wanna tell you one last thing, Marco. A fact I hate. I hate it more than I seem to hate Eren, more than I definitely hate my shitty situation at home. Simply because all of this would be so much easier without it...”

I was now – for the first time since I’ve walked into this room – looking at Marco. Really looking at him. Not bothering at all that by now I’ve lost the fight against the stupid tears, that they were now rather streaming down my face.

A small bittersweet smile was on my lips while I moved to open the door next to me without turning my eyes away from his freckled face. I knew that I was about to use up the last bit of courage I could gather, the last pieces I had inside of me right now to say the next words. And then I would again give in to the urge to run away. Leaving like Marco had told me I could do now.

So the moment these words had left my mouth, my voice strangely firm despite me nearly bawling my eyes out, I have left the room and quickly closed the door behind me.

“I can’t hate you... I’m _still_ madly in love with you.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'd love to say I'm sorry but... I'm probably not.  
> I dunno, I'm a cruel person yes *nods*
> 
> BUT! The RP is still ongoing so I might turn this into a two shot or something like that oxo 
> 
> So, thank you for reading x3


End file.
